


Some Days Are Hard

by mothstars



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Other, Self-Harm, Short One Shot, Smoking, this is basically just venting so its probably ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothstars/pseuds/mothstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[7:30am]</p>
<p>The alarm goes off, loud and blaring and annoying. It wakes him up, telling him to get up, he had work today!</p>
<p>Without a word he sits up, grabs the alarm clock and crushes it in his hand. He sets the now-broken alarm clock back down on the nightstand before laying back down and pulling the blankets up to his chin. He could tell today was just one of those days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Days Are Hard

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic really and I'm not much of a writer so there's probably 100+ flaws but I needed to vent sooo yeah! Figured I might as well post this as I haven't posted anything else yet hha,

_Most of the time, tolerating yourself isn’t so hard._

_But on a day like today, you hate it more than anything._

 

\----

[5:23am]

 

Tired eyes slowly blink awake, giving a confused look in the direction of the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. It was too early. It was too dark out to be awake, his body too tired, his mind too foggy. He lay there, staring at the clock for a good twenty minutes, contemplating whether or not getting up now would be worth the effort.

 

After another five minutes, he rolls over to face the wall and goes back to sleep.

\----

[7:30am]

 

The alarm goes off, loud and blaring and annoying. It wakes him up, telling him to get up, he had work today!

 

Without a word he sits up, grabs the alarm clock and crushes it in his hand. He sets the now-broken alarm clock back down on the nightstand before laying back down and pulling the blankets up to his chin. He could tell today was just one of those days.

\----

[10:00am]

 

It was well past when he was supposed to be at work, well past when he usually got up. The day seemed to pass too slowly, just lying in bed staring at a wall was boring, but he couldn’t find the energy to get up and start the day, at the very least he could show up late for work, rather than not show up at all.

 

_As if they’d even want someone like me there._

\----

[1:00pm]

 

A heavy sigh fills the room. He was annoyed. Not at anyone but himself, he knew laying here wasn’t doing him any good. He knew the day would be better if he just got up, but he couldn’t do it. It was too much effort, too much risk.

 

He knew the moment he woke up that his mood was low. He knew what he could do if he snapped. It just wasn’t worth the risk. A missed day of work was nothing compared to the damage he’d do if he hurt someone.

 

_Maybe..._

_it’s just me I’m afraid of hurting..._

\----

[3:00pm]

 

It took more effort than necessary, but after hours he finally managed to pull himself into a sitting position. He managed to drag himself over to the edge of the bed. He reached over to the nightstand, feeling groggy and only half awake, he opened up the drawer, grabbing out the pack of cigarettes and lighting one after putting it to his lips.

 

He takes the time to grab his phone, sitting on the edge of the bed as he goes through any messages he may have missed. There are multiple ones from his boss, asking where he was, if he was okay, if he was going to come into work today. He wanted to answer, but he wasn’t sure how.

 

‘Sorry, I’m taking the day off because I feel like a danger to everyone’ Just felt like an excuse, of course he was a danger, he was the strongest man in Ikebukuro.

 

After two or three more cigarettes he finally gets the will to get up.

\----

[4:00pm}

 

After making a small meal, consisting of some toast and two glasses of milk, he had wandered around the house, not sure what to do with himself.

 

It took awhile, but after a bit he ended up in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. It was odd, the feeling he always got from looking at himself. He didn’t look like a monster. His features were human. He had a human’s eyes, nose, mouth, he looked just like everyone else. The difference between him and everyone else wasn’t something visible. Behind the tired eyes and furrowed eyebrows there was a monster.

 

_A monster…_

_A monster. A monster. Monster. That’s what I am._

_I’m not a person._

_I’m a monster._

_No one could love what I am, right?_

_So then..._

_Why do I bother?_

_Why don’t I die already?_

 

There was a sharp, frustrated yell, followed by the sound of glass shattering as his fist slammed against the mirror, sending the shards in all directions, cutting into his knuckles. He cursed, pulling his hand away from the mirror and glaring down at the blood dotting his knuckles. It felt like it was hard to breathe, the air felt thick. Sucking in a deep breath he sank to the floor, not bothering to worry about the pieces of mirror shards that littered the floor.

 

He sat there, breathing heavy and hand bleeding, wishing that it would just go away. He didn’t want to be here if he was just going to be dangerous. He didn’t want to endanger others, he didn’t want to bother if no one would love him.

 

He wasn’t sure how it happened, exactly. There were too many emotions swimming through his head and too many thoughts all clouding his vision and judgement. He wasn’t able to hold back from picking up one of the larger shards of the glass, gripping it tightly and slashing down across his arm, leaving a line of red. He glared for a moment, annoyed that it didn’t even sting. He hardly even felt it.

**_Just like some kind of monster._ **

 

Sucking in a deep breath, he brought the glass shard down on his skin again and again, leaving deep cuts all over his arms, until there wasn’t much of his arms that wasn’t covered in the lines of red.

 

The shard of glass slipped from his hand, the blood covering his hand making his grip weak. He didn’t move to get it however. Instead he just stared ahead, his mind foggy and slow, vision blurred.

 

Bringing a hand up to his cheek, he felt just below his eye, a bit surprised to find that it was wet, wondering when exactly he had started crying.

 

   

 

 


End file.
